Without Her
by granthamfan
Summary: Robert faces the very real possibility that his wife could succumb to Spanish Flu. Prompt given by adama-roslinlove. This story will be at least two chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Without Her**

_A/N: Here is another wonderful prompt from my dear adama-roslinlove. Thank you for the prompt and for helping me get it sorted out in my head. Set during episode 2.08. Contains Series 2 spoilers for those who have only just begun their journey with Downton Abbey. None of these characters belong to me. Thank you to my wonderful beta, SashaElizabeth. It was meant to be a one-shot, but it sort of got out of hand._

Robert stood stunned, taking in the sight before him. He had reluctantly left his wife's bedroom for a moment when he heard that Lavinia had taken a turn for the worse. Dr. Clarkson had not thought that she was seriously ill. Now, she was gone. He watched as Matthew clung to his fiance's hand, unsure of what to say or do. Images of his own ailing wife flashed across his consciousness, and the words the doctor had spoken rang in his ears. _If she lasts through the night, she'll live. Oh, God, what if she doesn't_, he suddenly thought. He turned to Mary and Edith, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "I'm going to go sit with your mother," he spoke to his daughters. They nodded to him with eyes full of fear. He knew that they were just as afraid as he was that Cora, too, could very well succumb to this awful disease.

He walked through the door to find O'Brien still sitting at Cora's bedside. She had hardly left that spot since the whole ordeal began, and the fact that his wife's maid had been there for her more than he had made his stomach churn. How could he have been so thoughtless?

"O'Brien, I must insist that you have a rest," Robert said as he sat down on his side of the bed. "You've been awake for almost forty-eight hours straight."

"But, milord-"

"No, I insist, O'Brien. I cannot express my gratitude for how you've watched after her ladyship. But, you need rest. I'll sit with her."

"Well, if you're sure, your lordship. But, do ring for me if there is anything you need or that I can do."

"I will; thank you. Good night, O'Brien."

"Good night, milord."

Robert heard the door click shut behind him as he turned his attention to his wife. He couldn't hold back the tears that filled his eyes as he looked at her. Cora had always been delicate. She was tall and fine-boned; very delicate and graceful. But as he continued to study her, he noticed just how fragile she looked now; as if the slightest touch would break her. His chest constricted painfully as he finally bore witness to just how weak his normally strong Cora had become. He brushed her hair away from her face. It was sticky with sweat from the effects of the fever. He noticed that she no longer gasped for air, but there was still a distinct wheezing sound coming from her. He leaned over and placed several feather-light kisses to her cheeks and forehead, his tears spilling onto his wife's face. She stirred, but didn't wake.

"I'm so sorry, darling," he whispered. "I'm sorry for not realizing my love for you sooner. I'm sorry for not always defending you to my mother, although you proved to everyone more than once that you can take care of yourself where that is concerned. I'm sorry if I ever in any way made you feel inadequate. Because the truth is that you are more-much more-than I deserve. I'm sorry for not taking better care of you. I should have protected you from this. Most of all I'm sorry for-" But, he couldn't bring himself to voice this last thought. If there was a chance that she could hear what he was saying, he couldn't bear to tell her about what he had done. She didn't deserve that kind of heartbreak, not after all she had been through. He continued to gaze at his wife. She was always so beautiful. Even now after Spanish Flu had ravaged her body, he still thought there was no other woman more beautiful than his Cora.

The magnitude of what he had done suddenly washed over him anew, and he no longer felt worthy to be in the same room as his wife, let alone in the same bed. Placing one last kiss to her cheek, he gently removed himself from the bed, and went to his dressing room. He didn't bother to ring for Bates; instead, he readied himself for bed. Before sliding beneath the covers, Robert knelt down next to the bed. He didn't consider himself a particularly religious man. He really couldn't remember the last time he had prayed. However, he knew that if any situation called for prayer, it was this one.

"Dear God," he began, "I know I don't do this nearly as often as I should. But, Lord, I beg you to spare my wife. I know that I don't deserve her. I never have, but especially not after what I did the other night. Please forgive me for that. I don't dare offer an excuse for there isn't one. But, please don't make my wife the price for my transgression. Though I don't deserve Cora, the truth is that I can't make it without her. I can't even bear the thought of trying. Please let her live, Lord. Please…" Robert found he couldn't continue, unable to speak around the lump that had formed in his throat. He got up and slipped into bed, glancing at the door that separated his dressing room from his wife's. "Please, Lord," he whispered into the darkness. Sleep wasn't long in coming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Without Her**

A/N: Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews so far! I realize that it might have seemed a bit abrupt for Robert to leave the room, but guilt makes us do strange things sometimes. Trust me; he won't be gone long. Thank you, as always, to my wonderful beta. I'll include a tissue warning for this chapter as I forgot to include one for the last chapter. You'll recognize a bit of dialogue from episode 2.08.

Chapter 2

_ The car stopped just outside the entrance to the Downton Village cemetery. Mary, Edith and Sybil exited the car first before turning to their father. "Papa," Sybil spoke softly, "we're here." But, Robert didn't move._

_ "You have to do this sometime, Papa," Edith noted, concern written across her face, her voice trembling. "We all have to accept that she's gone." _

_ Robert looked up from his seat in the car, noting the tears that streaked the faces of his daughters. His three girls that reminded him so much of his wife. He obediently exited the car, his body moving but his mind barely registering what he was doing. The four of them wound their way through the headstones before arriving at one that had just been placed. Robert's breath caught as he read the inscription-_

_Cora Levinson Crawley_

_Countess of Grantham_

_1868-1919_

_Beloved Wife and Mother_

_ "No," Robert said, his voice low and shaky as he began to back away. "No, she can't be dead."_

_ "Papa-" Mary began, but Robert cut her off._

_ "NO!" he shouted. "NO!"_

Robert woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, and his entire body trembled in fright.

"Oh, God, please let her still be alive! Why did I leave her room?" With that, he leapt out of bed and rushed toward the adjoining door. Throwing it open, his heart almost stopped at the sight in front of him, relief and concern flooding through him. "Cora!" he exclaimed, rushing forward to wrap his arms around his wife who was standing at the foot of their bed, clinging to the bedpost for support. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I heard you screaming," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper and still raspy from the effects of the illness. "I was coming to check on you."

Robert was at a loss for words as he blinked back tears. After all she had been through-all he had put her through-she was still concerned for _him_. He could feel her trembling in his arms with the effort of standing up. As gently as he could he lifted her from the floor and placed her back on the bed, bringing the covers up around her. She was looking at him through heavy eyelids, and he couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

"I'm fine, darling," he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "I love you so much." Cora offered him a weak smile before sleep claimed her once again. Robert lowered himself onto the chair next to her bed, never letting go of her hand. He was determined to keep watch over her. As he watched her sleep, noting that the wheezing was all but gone, he looked up briefly and whispered, "Thank you." He had never been more thankful in his life.

Robert kept a vigil at his wife's bedside for the rest of the night, every now and again placing a kiss to her hand or smoothing her hair away from her face. As the first rays of morning sunshine began to peek through the curtains of the room, he once again breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Cora had made it through the night; she was going to be alright. The bedroom door clicked open and O'Brien stepped in, clearly worried about what she might find. Robert looked up at her and smiled, "She'll be fine," he said. He looked back at his darling wife before adding, "Thank God."

He noticed the look of relief that came across the lady's maid's face at his words. Though he didn't care for O'Brien, he had to admit that she had been very faithful to his wife and had taken excellent care of her throughout this entire ordeal. "I should get dressed and go down to make sure that everything has been arranged for Ms. Swire's funeral," Robert offered as he stood a placed a kiss to Cora's cheek.

"Certainly, milord," O'Brien answered. "I'll take over here and let you know when she wakes up."

"Thank you," he replied. "I mean it, O'Brien. Thank you for the way you've looked after her."

"It's my pleasure, your lordship," the lady's maid answered.

After getting dressed for the day, Robert went about the task of arranging everything for Lavinia's funeral. He could not even begin to imagine what Matthew was going through, and was increasingly grateful that Cora had survived. As he looked at Matthew, his eyes hollow and empty, his heart constricted at the thought of just how close he had been to stand where Matthew now stood. He vowed then and there to do everything within his power to make sure that his wife knew how much he loved her. He did love her; he had never stopped loving her. He watched Matthew walk slowly back toward the entrance to the Abbey, when his daughter's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Papa?" Sybil spoke from the upstairs landing. "Mama is asking for you."

Robert took the stairs two at a time, anxious to talk to his wife. He entered the room quietly, noting that she had been washed and changed into a fresh nightgown. Her eyes had been closed, but opened at the sound of his footsteps as he walked to her side of the bed and sat in the chair he had occupied the night before. "Robert," she whispered as she smiled tiredly at him. The sound of his name from her lips made his heart skip a beat.

"A sight to gladden my heart," he answered.

"Is it? I hope it is."

Robert's heart sank. What had he done? Even if she didn't know about what had transpired the first evening of her illness-and he prayed with every fiber of his being that she didn't-she knew that something was amiss. They had somehow managed to grow apart during the war, and it was mostly his fault. But, how could she ever think that he wouldn't be glad that she had survived. Part of him wanted to fall prostrate at her feet and beg her forgiveness, but he couldn't. He couldn't tell her what he had done; he couldn't break her heart anymore.

"You gave us quite a fright," came his reply, hoping that she wouldn't push the subject any further.

"They told me about Lavinia."

"The funeral is on Monday."

"I'd like to go if I can," Cora said. Robert looked into her eyes, noticing that they flickered a bit like they always did when she was about to cry. He held his breath as she looked at him for a moment before letting her right arm fall to her side, her hand reaching for his. He took her hand, and she squeezed it with what seemed like every ounce of strength she had in her.

"We're alright, aren't we Robert?" she spoke. It was more of a statement than a question, and in that moment he realized that they would be alright. What he had done was wrong, and he would spend the rest of his days regretting it, but he loved the woman whose hand he held.

"Of course we are," he affirmed, tightening his hand around hers.

"Only I know I got so caught up in everything I think I neglected you, and if I did I'm sorry." This was all too much for Robert. He shook his head slightly.

"Don't apologize to me," he said, hoping his eyes conveyed what he couldn't find the words to speak.

The days leading up to Lavinia's funeral passed fairly quickly, and Cora grew stronger everyday. Robert was a near constant presence in her room, making sure that she had everything she needed and that she was eating enough to regain her strength. She had told him on several occasions that hovering wasn't necessary, but he couldn't seem to help himself. And as they stood by Lavinia's grave, watching as her casket was lowered into the ground, Robert couldn't help but look over at his wife as she stood beside him. It was in that moment that he came to fully realize what he had almost lost. Overwhelmed with gratitude, he threw propriety to the wind and took Cora by the hand. He knew that if his mother took notice that he would be in for a telling-off, but in that moment he didn't care. All he knew was that he had been given a second chance. And, although there was no way of telling what the future would hold for any of them, every day he would become evermore grateful that he didn't have to face the changes that were coming without her.


End file.
